


Slide Into It

by peevee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Jon being a creep, Karaoke, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: It wasn’t obvious at first. The person was almost entirely hidden under the corner part of the trellis, but it was the little red glow of a cigarette being drawn on that caught Tim’s eye.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 33
Kudos: 168





	Slide Into It

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely self-indulgent PWP with no literary merit whatsover \o/  
> Set sometime in Season 1 where everybody still mostly liked each other, and more importantly, real!Sasha gets to do karaoke.

Tim was officially getting old. It was a friday night, and instead of being out on the pull he was at a bloody _office party_ , nursing a mediocre lager and watching Sasha and Rosie belt out an energetic but tuneless karaoke duet of _Love Shack_ in a grimy pub in Brixton. Worst of all, he was kind of enjoying himself. At least they were _at_ a pub, he supposed; better than cheap wine and cold sausage rolls on a collapsible table in the institute’s tea break room. Even Elias had come along to chill the entire atmosphere for an hour or so, leaving everyone with a palpable sense of relief when he’d finally left. Tim hadn’t spotted Jon yet; no doubt the grumpy bastard was still hunched creepily in his office, being all dramatic and spooky at a tape recorder.

Tim swung around on his bar stool to order another beer, and a flash of yellow caught his eye. Martin was sitting alone in a booth near the back of the pub, his left hand drawing patterns in some spilled beer on the table. He was watching the stage with a small smile, but there seemed to be a lonely bubble of space around him. Tim paid for his pint and headed over to slide in beside him 

“Space for a little one?” he joked, gesturing to the empty seats.

“Oh!,” said Martin, startling a bit. “Hi, hi Tim!”

He shuffled around the booth to make space. His jumper really was a rather… exuberant shade of yellow, but it sort of suited him, and he’d done something different with his hair. It curled over his forehead rather than being fluffed up in every direction like usual. He looked… really cute, actually. 

“You look nice,” Tim said. “I like your hair.”

“Oh.” Martin’s hand flew upwards and stopped short of messing with it. “Heh, yeah. Rosie put something in it, I don’t really know what she did. Um. Thanks! So do you, obviously.” Martin’s eyes flicked over Tim, then darted back up to his face. His cheeks had gone pink. 

“Enjoying the show?” Tim tipped his head towards the stage. Sasha and Rosie had finished to a smattering of applause, and one of the filing clerks Tim didn’t know grabbed the mic and struck a pose as _Dancing in the Dark_ began to play.

“Go on then, Clive!” someone shouted from the front. Clive put one foot on the lone monitor at the front of the stage and scrunched up his face for what turned out to be a fairly decent Springsteen impression. 

“He’s not actually bad at all, is he?” Martin said, sounding surprised. Tim cupped his fingers around his mouth and whooped loudly, and Martin giggled next to him. 

“What’s yours then?” said Tim, shifting in a little closer to Martin and sliding one arm behind him to rest on the back of the booth’s squashy seat. “Your karaoke song.”

“Oh, um. I don’t really have one?”

“Come on,” said Tim. “You must have something you like to sing along to. Even if you don’t do it on stage. It plays on the radio while you’re doing the washing up or something, and before you know it you’re using a wet spoon as a microphone and the neighbours are banging your door down wanting to know who’s being strangled?”

Martin blinked at him. “Um,” he said.

“No? Just me then.”

“What’s yours?” Martin said. “If everyone has one.”

“Oh, _Wuthering Heights_ , hands down. I can do all the high bits!”

Martin gave a shocked little laugh, which made him press into Tim’s side. He was warm, and he smelled of beer and wool.

“I think I’d pay actual money to see that,” he said. 

“Well, it’s your lucky day” Tim said, as Clive swung his air-guitar over his head and did a knee slide directly into someone’s half finished pint. “I’m up next.”

“Wait, are you -?”

“I accept tips,” said Tim, giving him a wink before sliding out of the booth and towards the stage. Sasha wolf-whistled and Tim gave her a bow as he passed. 

The tinkling piano began, and Tim channeled his inner Kate Bush as he swept dramatically across the stage and reached one hand out towards Martin. Martin glanced behind him, then cracked a grin when Tim started to sing at him. 

“How could you leave me?” he wailed, “When I needed to… possess you?”

_Who, me?_ Martin mouthed, hand to chest.

“I hated you, I loved you too!”

Martin pretended to swoon, hand to his forehead. By the time Tim was shrieking out for Heathcliff, Martin had his bright red face in his hands and half the pub was singing along with him, discordant but enthusiastic. Take that _Clive_ , he thought smugly. 

Martin was still laughing at him when he squeezed back into their booth, and he looked softer, somehow. More relaxed. Tim made a split-second decision, and slid his arm over Martin’s shoulder rather than the back of the booth. Martin tensed up for a moment, then melted into it. 

“Well? Did it live up to all of your hopes and dreams?” said Tim, still a bit out of breath from all the twirling.

“Oh, and more,” said Martin. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to hear properly for a while after that last high note, though.”

“Rude,” said Tim. “But maybe you could make it up to me. I think you mentioned a tip?”

“Oh, yes!” said Martin. “I was just about to go to the bar. I can get you a drink, what’re you having?”

“Fancy coming out to get some air with me instead?” Tim said, letting his fingers go splayed on Martin’s shoulder and hoping he wasn’t misreading the occasional long looks he’d seen directed his way. Martin blinked at him, his eyes darting over Tim’s face, then quickly down to his mouth. “I’m a bit overheated. Y’know.”

“Okay,” said Martin. He was still very pink, but there was an avid gleam in his eye that sent a bit of a shiver down Tim’s spine. God, he was hard up if just a bit of flirting was doing this to him. 

The beer garden outside wasn’t much of a garden, just a paved area around the front and side of the pub with a scruffy, overgrown trellis overhead. The sun was starting to set, and the shadows in the narrow alley alongside the pub were deep and dark and easy to sink almost invisibly into. They had barely turned the corner before Tim was sliding his hand up Martin’s neck, reaching up to kiss him.

They started off slow, a bit exploratory. Martin’s mouth was gorgeously soft, and when he opened his mouth to touch his tongue gently to Tim’s, Tim couldn’t help the noise that escaped him. He was already beginning to feel flushed with heat when Martin suddenly clutched his shoulders, pulled them a little further into the shadow and shoved Tim up against the wall. 

Tim gasped in surprise, then moaned into the kiss as Martin got his hands under his arse and hauled him upwards, pressed him more firmly against the brick. Jesus, he was _strong_. He was tall of course, but in that lovely, soft sort of way that belied any sort of real muscle. Tim had clearly been very, very wrong about that. He hiked one of his thighs up over Martin’s hip and ground a bit shamelessly against him.

“God,” Martin murmured against his throat. “ _Tim_.”

“Jesus, Martin.”

“Oh, sorry,” Martin said, starting to loosen his grip on Tim’s thighs. “God, sorry Tim. Got a bit carried away there.”

“Don’t even think about putting me down.”

“Oh, um. Really?”

Tim bit his lip, then very deliberately pushed his hard dick against Martin’s belly and raised his eyebrows. Martin’s face was mostly in shadow so Tim couldn’t see his expression, but he heard the deep, shaking breath Martin took. Then his (big, _big_ , fuck) hands were back cupped around Tim’s arse, pulling him up easily, and he could feel how hard Martin was through his jeans as well. 

There was nothing but silence and the slick sounds of kissing for a while as they ground together slowly against the wall. Tim felt a bit like a horny teenager again, but there was something thrilling about being outside in the open, getting each other off where anyone could walk past and see them. They were in the shadows, but they weren’t exactly well hidden. He tipped his head back to gasp for breath, and Martin mouthed softly at his neck.

A creeping sensation tugged at Tim’s awareness, entirely separate from the shivery thrill of Martin’s teeth scraping delicately at his neck. His eyes snapped open, and darted around the shadowy courtyard.

It wasn’t obvious at first. The person was almost entirely hidden under the corner part of the trellis, but it was the little red glow of a cigarette being drawn on that caught Tim’s eye. He _knew_ it was Jon. He couldn’t say how, because he could barely make out anything about the shape of them, but he knew with a sudden certainty that Jon was sitting there, watching them. That he had been there the entire time. 

Tim wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t stop Martin straight away, and tell Jon to fuck off and stop being such a creep. It might have had something to do with a hot thrill that crept up his spine when he stared at that dark, shadowy shape, knowing that Jon was staring right back at him. Knowing that Jon was seeing him like this. It wasn’t fair on Martin, though, and he tugged gently at Martin’s hair to get him to pull back.

“Martin,” he murmured.

“Mm?”

“Thought you should know we have an audience,” he said quietly. “Sims is over there getting an eyeful.”

Martin froze, his breath coming fast and hot against Tim’s neck. Tim expected him to leap away at any moment, to start flapping and stammering awkwardly, but instead Martin stayed pressed all up against him, turning his head to follow Tim’s gaze. He swallowed audibly, then turned back and met Tim’s eyes for a moment. Something hot and intense passed between them, then Martin was hauling Tim even tighter against him and making a choked sort of gasping noise into his mouth.

Tim’s eyes slid closed for a second. He’d always imagined that Martin might be that sort of nervous, fumbling, inexperienced type. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d got things so wrong, as Martin shoved one of his thighs up a little higher and bit at his mouth. Tim could feel the thick hard length of him grinding filthy up into his hip, and - _fuck_ \- wanted it inside him with an intensity that made him moan.

There was a soft sound, and he opened his eyes to see that Jon had leaned forward a bit so that his face was visible in the low light. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were fixed on Tim’s, and his gaze was… well. It was _hungry_. God, it was so strange to see him like this. To see him watching them, watching Martin push up harder against him, spread Tim open wider for Jon to see. 

Tim’s hands slid down Martin’s back, then up over his shoulders. He felt almost electrified with an odd, staticky sensation that seemed like it was spilling out of his fingertips.

“Is he still watching?” Martin pulled away barely an inch. He looked similarly dazzled, his wide eyes gone almost black in the darkness.

“Yeah. What do you think he wants to see?”

They were talking loudly enough that Jon could definitely hear them, but he remained silent, taking a long drag on his cigarette and letting the smoke drift slowly around him.

Tim swallowed, then bit his lip. “Think he’d like to see your cock in my mouth?”

“God, Tim,” said Martin. His hands were tight on Tim’s waist, and his fingers clenched almost painfully. 

“‘Cause I gotta be honest with you, I really, _really_ want that.” 

Martin’s throat clicked as he swallowed, and he darted another look over his shoulder at Jon. 

“Yeah,” he said breathily, “yeah, that would be. Um.”

“Turn around then,” said Tim, wriggling a bit to get free of Martin’s grip. “Let him get a good look at you.”

Martin made a high-pitched sort of squeak and let Tim spin him and press his back to the wall.

“Sure about this?” Tim asked him. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes flicked quickly to where Jon was sitting, then back to Tim. He nodded. Tim slid slowly to his knees.

They were still mostly in shadow, but Tim could still see Martin’s face, could even see the outline of his dick pressed thickly against the zip of his jeans. He shifted a little to the side so that Jon would be able to see, then leaned forward to press his mouth against Martin through his jeans, his hands sliding greedily up Martin’s thighs. Then Martin’s hand came tentatively around the back of his head, and Tim groaned. 

“Yeah, put… get your hands in it. In my hair.”

Martin gripped at him more firmly and gave his hair a bit of a tug. “Like that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s… fuck.” He popped the top button on Martin’s jeans, only to discover more bloody buttons. “What the fuck is wrong with a zip?”

Martin giggled above him, and let go of his hair to help with the rest. He was wearing yellow pants that matched his jumper, and Tim felt a little stab of tenderness, right to the heart. Then Martin shoved them down to free his dick, and Tim’s mouth flooded with saliva and he forgot all about his soft feelings. 

“Wow, mate,” he said admiringly, hardly able to drag his eyes away to look up at Martin’s face, which was somehow even redder than it had been before. He looked like steam might be about to come pouring out of his ears, and he kept glancing over to where Jon must still be sitting, watching them.

“Shut up,” he said, squeaky. “You can’t - It’s not -” His hands hovered, then flopped back down to his sides. His dick was very pink and very hard, and all lovely and slick at the tip where he’d leaked all over himself.

“Reckon he can see how wet you’ve got? Look at that.”

“God,” said Martin, covering his face with his free hand. “Will you just -”

Tim leaned forward, tongue first, mouth open, and let him slide into it. His eyes rolled back just a tiny bit in his head. _God_. He spread his knees wider to try and relieve some of the pressure on his own dick as he relaxed his throat and worked down a little deeper, breathing through his nose and trying to suppress the urge to cough.

“Tim,” Martin breathed reverently. It was hard to smirk with a cock down his throat, but Tim gave it his best shot. He swallowed and looked up through his eyelashes, gratified to see that Martin’s gaze was fixed on him. 

“You look,” Martin said, “you’re so -”

He trailed off, apparently speechless. Tim gave himself a mental pat on the back, then Martin’s hands were back in his hair and he stopped thinking about anything at all. Martin was thick and hot on his tongue, heavy pressure at the back of his throat. His fingers tightened their grip, and Tim moaned in appreciation, which made Martin jerk and gasp and tug _harder_ and Tim was fumbling at his own zip, desperate to get his hand on himself, mouth gone slack and sloppy. 

“God, he’s,” Martin gasped. “He’s watching, Tim. Looking at you.”

Tim didn’t need to be told. He could feel Jon’s eyes crawling all over him like they had a physical weight, like Jon was trailing fingertips over every part of his body. He gave a shivery thrust into the tight grip of his fingers and swallowed artlessly around Martin’s cock, coordination shot to hell. Fuck, he usually gave a better showing than this, but the combination of Martin’s firm grip on his hair, the way he was beginning to gently fuck Tim’s mouth, and the heavy weight of Jon’s presence through it all was driving Tim rapidly towards complete incoherence. He swallowed, shifted a bit on his knees, but even the ache of having them pressed into the paving stones just reminded him that he was _outside_ , that anyone could pop out for a smoke and catch him with his cock out and his mouth full. He flicked his tongue, and Martin gasped and thrust a bit too hard. Tim choked on him and pushed the slippery head of his dick into his fist and _fuck_ he was gonna come so bloody quickly.

“Christ, look at you,” said Martin. He sounded remarkably steady; probably because Tim wasn’t doing much more than swallowing weakly around him as he tried not to completely embarrass himself. “Jon, can you see -”

“ _Yeah_ ,” said Jon, and mortifyingly, it was that one low word that had Tim moaning and clutching at Martin’s jumper as he came in thick, hot pulses all over his own hand. God, Jon sounded… he sounded like a different person. Rough voice, low and dark. Tim shivered and made a helpless noise as the aftershocks wrung through him, as Martin stroked his hair tenderly. 

“Jon. Look what you made him do,” said Martin. 

Jon didn’t answer, but it didn’t seem like Martin was expecting him to. He held Tim’s head still and shifted his weight a bit, then slowly pushed himself deep into Tim’s lax mouth. 

“Okay?”

Tim couldn’t do much more than make a pathetic sort of whimpering sound through his nose, but he thought _yes, yes, yes_ as hard as he could, and despite what Jon thought, Martin wasn’t an idiot. He fucked Tim’s throat slow and shuddering, pulling back a little when Tim struggled for breath. His left hand began to tremble where it was clutched in Tim’s hair, and after a few minutes he made a low gasping sound.

“ _Tim_ , I’m going to… do you want -?”

The idea of Martin pulling out to come on his face while Jon watched was… well, it was almost enough to get him going again. On the other hand, he did have to get the tube home. Fuck, why couldn’t Jon have been _normal_ about this and just proposed a nice ordinary threesome instead of being a total creep. 

Tim blinked up at Martin and nodded as best he could with his mouth full.

“God, you’re so good,” said Martin, his voice going high and wavering, and barely a second later he was coming. Tim moaned and swallowed and felt that delicious little rhythmic beat that surged against his tongue. He didn’t move for a minute or two, liking the feel of it as Martin softened in his mouth, but shortly he began to really feel the ache in his knees and he pulled off and staggered a little clumsily to his feet. 

Martin caught his elbow and pulled him in for a kiss, slow and warm. When they drew apart he followed Martin’s gaze to that dark corner; there was nothing there except for an ashtray, empty apart from one half-smoked cigarette, the ember still glowing faintly.


End file.
